“DADDY!” Miles called from downstairs. “CAN YOU GET THE THING THAT PRESSES??”
The “thing that presses” that he was referring to was a stapler, and he was requesting it because he had completed the illustrations in his FIRST BOOK. At his direction (I’m a firm believer in artistic vision, after all), I stapled the pages together. He then dictated the text to me, which I transcribed precisely despite every urge to…embellish it. This might be the proudest I’ve ever been of him.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 